


Honor Lies

by romanticalgirl



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great men's honor ought always to be measured by the methods they made use of in attaining it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[**nolivingman**](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Originally written for the [](http://aos-challenge.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://aos-challenge.livejournal.com/)**aos_challenge** monthly "Norrington" challenge.
> 
> Originally posted 6-30-07

His days, if he can call them that, are busy, spent ferrying the backlog of the dead to their final resting place. Jones’s unholy alliance with Beckett has left many searching and lost at sea, unable to find their way.

Time passes strangely on the Dutchman, so he has no way to measure other than the shift of light on the waves and beneath the ocean, and the faint and distant beating of his heart. Even still, he has no count of the days that have passed since he began his service.

He has seen none yet that he knows, though he is aware that the time will come when a face will greet him, and he will know the face, the name. Even armed with this knowledge and the sudden increase in darkened skin, he is not prepared for Sao Feng when he sails by, his face at rest, his eyes forward and awaiting his final destination.

Will considers towing him aboard and asking him questions about Elizabeth, but he’s come to accept that, even married, there are burdens they will always bear on their own. There is also the knowledge that it would be an exercise in futility and Sao Feng would tell him nothing or tell him lies.

Still, Will watches him with something like respect as he passes, the current sure and swift beneath him.

**

It is the powdered white that catches his eye next, stark against the midnight black of the sky. He turns his head fully and steps back from the wheel, another man already there to take his place. He vaults off the quarterdeck and rushes to the rail, the white shadowed by the pristine blue and braided gold.

“Norrington.”

He is unsure if it is the name or the surprise in his voice that captures Norrington’s attention, but he turns his head and meets Will’s gaze. “Turner.”

He’s no less haughty for his death, his voice still laced with a mixture of distrust and dislike, though there is more than that as well. Death has made them equals for all that Will’s heart still beats somewhere. They are not friends and are nothing alike save the same strange sense of honor.

Will holds Norrington’s eyes for a moment then throws out a line, the rope landing neatly across the small boat. Norrington looks at it for a moment, his hands caressing the coarse strands, then he grasps it, letting Will tow him alongside the Dutchman.

Norrington’s boots ring out on the deck as he comes aboard, his gaze slicing over the meager crew that had refused to leave when Will set them free, the ship more than willing to sail her own course. He still has the eyes of a Captain, for all that he was Beckett’s man. Will stands his ground until Norrington looks at him and then nods slightly, conveying a fellow Captain’s acknowledgement.

“The Dutchman.” Norrington’s eyes no longer see the men but the ship, the boards that convey the wishes of the man willing to sacrifice to be her master. Her boards are as bright as if freshly holystoned, and her sails snap smartly in the wind that does not blow. “She’s a good ship.”

“She is. I do my best to sail right by her.”

Norrington nods then finally brings his eyes to Will. His gaze glances over Will’s chest, not lingering on the dark scar that stains it. Instead they rise to meet Will’s. “I can think of no man more ill suited to live forever.”

“Interesting,” Will allows as he holds Norrington gaze. “I can think of one.”

Norrington stands motionless for a moment then smiles, a slight huff of laughter parting his lips. “Well-spoken, Turner.”

“You grant me that, then?”

“I have learned quite well that what I grant you has very little to do with what you take, Turner.”

They face each other, little to challenge now that they both have lost everything. Finally, Will gives him a small nod and steps back, gesturing toward his cabin. “I have tea and rum if you’d like something.”

Norrington glances to his small boat, riding behind now in the wake of the Dutchman’s slow journey through the sea that looks like sky. “Tea, I think,” he accepts without looking at Will, falling in step with him as Will leads the way below decks. Norrington had spent a good measure of time on the ship, but it’s a different one now under this different Captain.

“How did you die?”

Will opens the door to the Captain’s cabin and waits until Norrington enters before answering. The door closes silently behind them, and it’s the one thing that bothers Will about this ship. He’s been at sea long enough to know the echoes and moans of the ship beneath him, and yet the Dutchman doesn’t speak below decks. It’s as silent as a tomb, reminding Will that, for all intents and purposes, that’s exactly what it is. “Davy Jones stabbed me through the heart.” He goes to the table and sits, the teapot on the table slowly starting to steam, the ships response to his needs – he serves her, she serves him. “So I returned the favor.”

Norrington makes his way around the cabin, stopping in front of the grand organ. It is rusted and worn now, the last remnant of Davy Jones, slowly fading away, giving in to decay. “And yet yours still beats.”

“Somewhere,” Will allows. He watches Norrington’s fingers carefully brush the keys, not enough pressure to produce a sound, though Will can feel the air inflating like a breath in the organ’s lungs. “How did you die?”

“She didn’t tell you then?” He shakes his head, his fingers finally pressing a key, a low and mournful sound coughing from the pipes. “I suppose not. She is a master of secrets, our Elizabeth. Playing one man against the other for her own benefit.”

“Do you truly see her that way? So cunning and cruel?”

Another note, this one like a laugh caught on a dying breath. “Elizabeth is strong and smart. Determined.”

“Qualities that, in a man, you would admire.”

“Qualities I admire in a woman, though not so much in a wife.” Norrington moves his fingers from the keys and turns back to Will, leaning back against the organ. “She is likely to be an early death to the man who marries her.”

Will pours the tea. “She was.”

Norrington’s eyebrows rise, nearly disappearing into the pristine white of his wig. “I beg pardon for any offense to your wife, Mr. Turner.”

“I think you should just be glad she was not here to hear you give it, Admiral. The ship has grown somewhat fond of the taste of blood.”

“And Sparrow?”

“Gone. No doubt the scourge of the seven seas once again. So long as he doesn’t trouble me, we remain on good terms. Jack’s got a taste for immortality. Hopefully he’s learned that Elizabeth is more than happy to make sure he doesn’t get it.”

“A good woman to have guard your heart.”

“But not so good a woman to give it to?” Will leans back in his seat. “Did you love her?”

“I died protecting her.”

“Not quite the same.”

“I’d sworn to die protecting England. I can imagine no higher compliment. Can you?” Norrington sighs and moves back to the table, sitting across from Will. “I suppose you can. Your allegiances always were more of the heart rather than the mind.”

“Did it serve you well? Your allegiance?” Will’s voice holds no bitterness, no animosity. “Your ambition? A pyrrhic victory, is it not, to be made Admiral and have it be a mockery?”

“Beckett’s lapdog, you mean. All the bite at the end of his sword instead of mine.” Norrington nods, tracing the lines of the map embedded in the table’s surface. “I lost my way.”

“We all did. Blame it on Jack’s compass. Sometimes…most of the time, it is best not to get what your heart desires.” Will sips his tea, watching Norrington’s hand as it traces routes to places that don’t exist. “There are worse things than going through life trying to achieve something, striving for it and fighting for it along all the right avenues. Worse things than not getting what you think you want.”

“And are there worse things than going through death the same way?” Norrington shakes his head, closing off any response Will might make. “I made choices. I made choices about the man I was and the man I thought I wanted to be. Too late I learned that the man I wanted to be was nothing because of the way I became him. Service and duty and honor. I paid my price with those things, things I once held dear.”

“I would bet my…life, my still-beating heart, James, that you died with all those things intact. You may have given them to Beckett, but in the end you took them back. Elizabeth would not have let you die without honor. Not if she could help it.”

“And if she couldn’t?”

Will finishes his tea and sets his cup down, standing and waiting for Norrington to do the same. They walk to the deck slowly, measured steps of men with eternity at their feet. Norrington’s boat is alongside them again, and the sea still the inky black of eternity. “You would not have died without honor. Elizabeth be damned.”

“She likely is, you know.”

Will nods as Norrington goes over the side, his hands gripped around the ladder. “Aren’t we all?”  



End file.
